


Merry be the Greenwood

by LadyGaGalion



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drunkenness, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-04 10:32:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5330933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGaGalion/pseuds/LadyGaGalion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo accepts Thranduil's invitation to stay in his halls after the BotFA. What he finds is that while the wood-elves sure know how to party, they are quite oblivious when it comes to matters of love. Then again, so is he.</p><p>*This fic is a total mash-up of book and movie-verse.</p><p>**Rating will go up in future chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> A few quotes in this chapter are taken almost verbatim from _The Hobbit_ by J.R.R Tolkien.

It was getting steadily colder as the elven party approached the northern border of Mirkwood. The hitherto aimlessly drifting snowflakes were growing fluffier and heavier, covering the ground in a soft white blanket that grew thicker by the minute. Before them, the forest loomed dark and foreboding; Bilbo felt queasy at the sight of it. 

Fear. Hunger. Confusion. All these feelings and more arose inside him unbidden.

"This is where we must part," Gandalf said as they drew to a halt. "Bilbo and I will go around the edge of the wood with Beorn. It is a safer road—long and cheerless though it may be." Bilbo felt a wave of relief wash over him at these words. He had assumed they would be traveling through the forest again, for Gandalf had declined King Thranduil's invitation to stay in his halls for a while, saying he had urgent matters to attend to once he returned Bilbo safely to the Shire. 

"Farewell, Mithrandir," said Thranduil. "May you ever appear where you are most needed and least expected."

"Farewell, Thranduil!" said Gandalf in turn. "Merry be the greenwood, and merry be all your folk."

So enchanted was Bilbo by Thranduil's beauty as he sat facing them upon his elk that he almost forgot the gift he had brought for him (and he probably would have if it were not so heavy). 

"Wait!" Bilbo said as he reached inside the inner pocket of his coat. "I have a gift for you."

He felt rather silly as he drew out the necklace of silver and pearls that Daín had given to him upon their parting and held it out for Thranduil, whose eyes widened at the sight of it.

"What have I done to deserve such a gift, O hobbit?" Thranduil asked as he took the necklace from Bilbo's trembling fingers.

"I, er, well—" Bilbo cleared his throat. "Consider it a repayment for the bread and wine I stole from your halls during my stay." Also, he could not think of a better use for it than to adorn the Elvenking's smooth, pale neck, but he decided to keep that part to himself.

"This is worth more in bread and wine than a hobbit could consume in a lifetime," said Thranduil, and when Bilbo found the courage to look up again, he was met with wise blue eyes that gazed upon him with great curiosity. "Are you certain that you would not like to come and stay in my halls through midwinter? Our festivities are unrivaled."

Bilbo looked helplessly from Thranduil to Gandalf, hoping that the latter would respond for him—for although he'd had about all the adventure he could take, there was a part of him that wanted to accept the invitation. He was fascinated by these beautiful beings who dwelled in a such a dark and dangerous place, who could still think of revelry amidst so much loss. 

But Gandalf's eyes were twinkling. "I may be unable to stay, but that does not mean you cannot."

"But how will I—?"

"Get back to the Shire?" Gandalf asked. "Not to worry, dear hobbit. I will join you once my work is done. Truthfully, this works out even better—although I will make the journey West with you now, if that is what you prefer."

Bilbo felt a nervous fluttering in his chest. He supposed he could say he was weary or that he desired solitude so that he might properly grieve over his fallen companions—for that was the truth. But it wasn't every day that a hobbit was offered the opportunity to spend the winter holidays with elves, and Gandalf did seem eager to get on with his business. There was also the nagging thought that if he didn't go to Mirkwood now, he might never get see the Elvenking again.

"All right," Bilbo said before he could change his mind. "I will go with you."

Thranduil smiled. "Splendid."


	2. Homecoming

They could not get home soon enough. Every delay, indeed every sound, irritated Legolas. He hadn't wanted to return to Eryn Lasgalen. There would be too many memories, too much pain. Everywhere he would go would remind him of Tauriel—the training field, the dungeons, the dining hall.

In all honesty, Legolas did not feel he even had the right to return. He had repeatedly disobeyed his king and father—had threatened him. Anyone else would have been banished for such actions, as was the case with Tauriel. But Thranduil had asked him to return, had promised that things would be different between them from now on. Legolas couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his father so open and vulnerable. Reluctantly, he'd agreed. Now all he wanted was to reach their destination as quickly as possible so that he could lock himself up in his bedchamber.

 _That is one place that holds no memories of Tauriel,_ Legolas thought ruefully. 

When Mithrandir and the skin-changer departed and the party continued on their journey, entering into the forest, some of the soldiers behind him began to sing a song of blessing to the trees. He could not find it in his heart to join in, however—and this saddened him all the more. 

Beside him, Thranduil explained the purpose of the song to the hobbit, who rode with one of the king's guards. Legolas was surprised by his father's fascination with Bilbo, though perhaps he should not have been. Rarely did their people have contact with anyone outside of the forest and Esgaroth, and certainly none had ever met a hobbit before. Under different circumstances, he himself would have been curious and eager for the company. But as it was, he feared that the presence of a guest would only be a nuisance. 

Legolas did not speak to anyone the entire way home. His mind drifted back to Dale, where Tauriel had remained to help with the rebuilding of the city. Where she would go afterwards, or whether she would choose to remain, he did not know. Only of one thing was he certain: He would not, of his own volition, ever have contact with her again. He would not bear it.

The atmosphere grew lighter and livelier the closer they drew near to his father's halls. Elves who lived in the forest surrounding the hill had descended from their telain to greet their king and the returning army. Both he and Thranduil received wreaths of juniper and spruce to wear upon their heads as they rode onward, and all looked curiously upon the hobbit who accompanied them. 

A welcoming party was already gathered at the front gate. As they drew to a halt, Elros stepped forward and gave a bow. "Welcome home, Aran nín."

"Thank you, Captain," said Thranduil.

 _Captain._

It hit Legolas like the blow of a mace in the gut. Of all the things he had thought about on the return journey, he hadn't considered that someone would else would have taken Tauriel's post, and that he would be required to have dealings with that person on a daily basis—a constant reminder of what he had lost, or rather, had never had in the first place.

But it was too late. His father would be devastated if he left now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sindarin terms:
> 
> aran nín - my king


	3. The Victory Feast

Bilbo had the pleasure of sitting beside the Elvenking at the feast that evening. He felt awkward and unworthy of such an honor, but he wasn't about to complain—especially not after he spotted the necklace he had gifted Thranduil peeking out from underneath the collar of his robes. 

_Stop gaping,_ he told himself as he peeled his eyes away for the second time in what could not have been five minutes. 

His stomach growled at the smell of the venison stew, and he helped himself to a ladle-full, thankful for the distraction. But the stew was piping hot, so he needed something else to with which to divert his attention for the time-being.

Gazing around the hall, Bilbo spotted Galion, the butler, with the new Captain of the Guard—the very elves he'd stolen the keys from the night he'd freed his companions from their prison cells. They were sitting together at one of the tables; when they saw him looking their way, they raised their goblets, winking and smirking. Bilbo felt himself go red as they drank deeply and then burst out laughing. 

"Clearly their punishment was insufficient," Thranduil said, noticing the exchange, "or they would not be making light of their misconduct." But he must have sensed Bilbo's concern, for he quickly added, "There is no need worry yourself—I will not make adjustments. After all, Elros's promotion comes with a hefty price."

"And what might that be?" Bilbo asked. Galion and Elros must have noticed that they'd caught Thranduil's attention, for their expressions grew somber, and they looked away. 

"Should he choose to neglect his duties again, he will be released from my service forever," Thranduil explained. "But let us speak now of more interesting matters." 

Over the course of the evening, Thranduil asked Bilbo many questions regarding the Shire, or i Drann, as he called it. He seemed particularly curious about the lack of a centralized government and about the various crops that were grown in the region. He also inquired about which part of the Shire Bilbo hailed from, and in turn Bilbo told him about Hobbiton and Bag End, finishing with a great sigh as he remembered his cozy armchair by the fireplace.

"I understand now why you were so eager to return home," Thranduil said with a smile. "But I do hope you will enjoy your stay here…now that you have no need to hide from us."

"I'm sure I will." Bilbo said, blushing again. "Besides, I'm afraid home will never be the same."

"No," Thranduil agreed, "it will not."

They sipped their wine in silence for a moment (Bilbo drank his own from a smaller glass intended for miruvor). The air seemed to have grown heavier as Bilbo remembered Thorin and Kíli and Fíli, and all that the Quest for Erebor had entailed. But soon the potent—and indeed tasty—wine of Dorwinion began to do its work, and before he knew it the dark cloud had lifted. 

"That necklace looks quite stunning on you, O Elvenking!" Bilbo exclaimed in a fit of boldness, staring as if he hadn't already noticed it adorning Thranduil's neck earlier that evening. And because his vision was a bit blurred, he had to squint. Still, he couldn't help but imagine what the Elvenking would look like wearing _only_ the necklace.

Thranduil smiled again, and his teeth were even more dazzling than the pearls. "It was a beautiful and generous gift. I must thank you again."

Bilbo meant to say that no 'thank you' was necessary, but he felt very drowsy, and the words came out sounding so slurred he couldn't understand them himself. The wine's effect was intensifying very quickly. 

"Are you feeling all right?" he heard Thranduil ask through the mental fog. 

Then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sindarin terms:
> 
> i Drann - the Sindarin name for the Shire


	4. Forever Alone

Legolas breathed a sigh of relief. The healer had said that the hobbit would be all right—he had simply overindulged in Dorwinion wine. A simple sobering tonic, and he would be himself again in no time. But the diversion created by the incident provided Legolas with an opportunity to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the feast, and so he quietly slipped away before everyone settled down again. 

In his haste he nearly bumped into someone on the way out. It was just his luck that this happened to be the last person he wanted to see…and one he wouldn't be able to avoid for long.

"Congratulations, Captain," Legolas said tersely when Elros apologized for being in the way. It would have been impolite not to congratulate him, even if he felt a burning weight in his stomach as he did it. 

"Thank you, hîr nín," followed the soft reply as Legolas continued on his way to his chambers. 

At last, behind closed doors, he allowed himself to sink to the cold stone floor. 

He had never felt more alone. At the feast, it had seemed as if everywhere he had turned, he'd been faced with couples joyfully celebrating their reunion and the defeat of a great evil. He knew this was not the case with everyone. There were those who had lost their loved ones in the battle, and as the night wore on, laments would be sung for the fallen. But nonetheless, the atmosphere in general was one of joy and love.

Legolas had loved—he loved still—but he had never _been_ loved. Not in a romantic sense. He was still a virgin, for Ilúvatar's sake. At his age that was unheard of. Of course, he had spent the majority of his life showing a complete lack of interest in such matters. He'd preferred spending time alone in nature or honing his archery and fighting skills. But then Tauriel had come into his life, and as the years had gone by he'd felt an increasing desire to share in these passions with her. Somewhere along the way he'd fallen in love. 

Yet Tauriel had never returned his feelings. He'd thought that perhaps it was because his manner had been too aloof, for he wasn't good at showing affection. So when they were alone together at Gundabad, he'd forced himself to open up. He'd told her about his naneth's death—something he'd never shared with another before. And though he'd done it with the best of intentions, it would be dishonest to say he hadn't hoped for a physical expression of comfort. A hug, perhaps, if nothing more. But he'd not received anything of the sort. 

The sad truth, which Legolas had been unwilling to face at first, was that Tauriel had preferred a dwarf over him. That was the way of the world, he supposed. Love wasn't always requited. But the longer he dwelled on the past, the more he realized that no one else had ever really vied for his attention, either. And he was the prince. 

It wasn't in Legolas's nature to hold himself above others because of his title, nor did he want to be sought after because of it—but he was no fool. He knew that to some, wealth and status mattered more than anything. But even that sort didn't find him desirable, apparently.

Myriad thoughts began to plague his mind. _Why doesn't anyone want me? What is so wrong with me? Am I destined to remain alone forever?_

Legolas held a fist up to his mouth and bit down on his knuckle to suppress the sob that threatened to escape his throat. So this was what he had been reduced to: crying on the floor like an ill-tempered elfling. His adar would never have succumbed to such shameful behavior. 

No wonder no one loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sindarin terms:
> 
> hîr nín - my lord  
> naneth - mother  
> adar - father


	5. Easing the Pain

"What troubles you so, Elros?" Galion asked after sending the servants up with more wine. (He had underestimated how much would be drunk at the feast tonight.) Elros's mood had changed drastically after the brief commotion in the hall. 

"It is as I feared," Elros said morosely. "The prince resents me for taking Tauriel's post."

Galion resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he handed him a goblet of wine—better stuff than their kind was allowed to partake of at the feast. "Have you even spoken to him since his return?"

"He congratulated me as he was leaving hall, but he seemed anything but pleased." Elros stopped fiddling with one of the game pieces that lay strewn across the table, tossed it aside, and took a sip. Quietly he added, "It was as if he couldn't bear to look at me."

"He will get over it in time," Galion said, giving Elros's shoulder a squeeze as he took a seat beside him. "But for your own good, you must cease this fruitless pining. Your desire is nothing more than an elfling's fantasy. Even if Prince Legolas were to return your feelings, the king would never allow a union between you."

"You should heed your own advice, then," Elros said, and when Galion looked at him questioningly, he added, "Do you think I've not noticed how longingly you look at Lord Feren? Do you believe _he_ would take _you_ for a lover?"

"No, I do not," Galion said after a brief pause, and with a pang in his chest. "And that is why I have never spoken of my feelings."

Elros dropped his head. "Forgive me. That was uncalled for."

But Galion wasn't angry. After all, he had poked at Elros's wound first. Taking one last sip, he set his goblet on the table, then stood and offered Elros his hand. "Come, mellon. I will do what I can to ease your pain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sindarin terms:
> 
> mellon - friend


	6. Luscious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the infrequent updates. I had more urgent stuff to attend to, but I'll be updating more frequently now. We'll get back to Bilbo and Thranduil in the next chapter.

In the warm, flickering firelight within Galion's chambers, Elros admired the auburn locks that slipped so easily between his fingers. It was a rare color amongst their kin, vibrant and warm, and he couldn't help but wonder if it had been Tauriel's hair, which was even more fiery than Galion's, that had first captured Legolas's attention. His own hair was plain in comparison—darker than most, but not striking in any way.

Elros slumped back against the sofa with a sigh.

"What are you thinking about?" Galion asked without opening his eyes. He was lying with his head in Elros's lap. And though to another he might have appeared relaxed, Elros didn't miss the slight frown on his lips and the delicate furrow of his brow. 

"I was just admiring your luscious mane," he said in an attempt to lighten the mood. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "You're very handsome."

Galion snorted before turning onto his side and making himself more comfortable in Elros's lap. "If you absolutely must engage in idle flattery, I suggest doing so _before_ you get sucked off. That's the way it usually works."

"I mean it!" Elros said defensively. "You're funny and generous and attractive. Why can't I—?" He couldn't bring himself to finish the question out loud—it would be callous—but he didn't need to as Galion seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

"Because we do not choose whom we fall in love with."

"Well, life would be much easier if we could," Elros replied, and resumed stroking Galion's hair.

"Indeed it would." 

And as the glow of the fire dimmed and Elros began to doze off, he heard a soft, "I like your hair, too. Only a blind fool wouldn't notice its beauty."


	7. Deep and Pleasant Dreams

_After wandering the Elvenking's halls for what seemed like hours, Bilbo finally found his guest chambers. Thranduil had offered to have one of the servants guide him back from the feasting hall, but he'd insisted that he remembered the way. That had turned out not to be the case._

_Bilbo gave a sigh of relief as he turned the key and the door unlocked. Thankfully he'd found his destination without having to seek help, and now there was an undoubtedly warm and comfortable bed waiting for him. His belly was full, and his head was buzzing from the wine. A nice, long sleep was in order. In fact, the sofa was closer and seemed very inviting. He was, after all, very drowsy._

_Bilbo started at the sound of a deep, resonant voice coming from the opposite end of the chambers._

_"I was beginning to think you had gotten lost."_

_He turned, jaw dropping at the sight that greeted his eyes. Reclined against a mountain of green and silver pillows on the bed lay Thranduil, wearing only the silver and pearl necklace Bilbo had gifted him._

_Bilbo's eyes travelled up the Elvenking's exposed form. Thranduil had hairless, arched feet and tantalizingly long legs. A gold, silken sheet lay draped across his lap, just barely covering his crotch. Bilbo looked back down at it after taking a moment to admire Thranduil's sculpted abdomen and the hardened nipples that peaked out from between shiny strands of blonde hair, and realized that it was tented. He swallowed._

_"Were you hoping to see something more?" Thranduil's amusement was evident in his voice. A single tug on the golden sheet exposed his erection, and Bilbo gasped at the enormity of it. He supposed it might be nothing out of the ordinary for an elf, but nonetheless he had never seen a dick that size._

_"Er… no! I mean, yes," he said, cringing with embarrassment as he looked down at his own furry feet._

_Bilbo could not come up with a reply that seemed respectful and adequate. His heart was pounding, and heat travelled upward from his chest in waves until he was certain he was going to faint…_

 

Bilbo blinked against the flickering glow of the torchlight. As his vision focused, he found himself in a room he didn't recognize. There were a number of narrow, empty beds all in a row, and the shelves on the walls were lined with jars and bottles. _I must be in the healing quarters,_ he thought.

"Bilbo, thank goodness you are awake!" said a familiar voice.

"King Thranduil…" Bilbo said, feeling the familiar burn in his cheeks once more. 

"It seems that the wine of Dorwinion is too strong for a hobbit, even in small quantities," Thranduil said, smiling down at him. "You had me worried for a moment."

Slowly, the memories came back. He had been at the feast, sipping the delicious wine as he engaged in conversation with the Elvenking. He remembered his lips beginning to go numb, and feelings of love and joy bubbling up inside his chest. Then he had said something rather embarrassing, though he could not remember precisely what it was, and soon after everything had gone black. 

"I feel…" Bilbo said, bemused, as he realized he had no symptoms of a hangover. In fact, his head felt clearer than it had in a long time. "I feel great!"

"You can thank Faervel, the healer, for that. His sobering tonic works wonders," Thranduil said, and he walked around the end of the bed, in the direction of the exit. Bilbo wished he wouldn't leave, but he knew it was a ridiculous desire. Surely the king had more important matters to attend to. 

"Faervel said you are free to return to your own chambers, though you may remain here until morning if you wish," Thranduil added before leaving. "Shall I send someone along to escort you?"

Bilbo doubted he'd be able to fall alseep; he felt more awake and refreshed than he had in a long time. Remembering his dream, however, he didn't trust himself to find his own way back to his guest chambers. "That would be much appreciated."

Thranduil gave a slight nod. "Good night to you then, O hobbit. Tomorrow I shall give you a tour of my halls."

"Good night," Bilbo replied. 

With a swish of his robes against the stone floor, Thranduil turned and was gone. 

Bilbo inhaled a deep, deep breath.


	8. A Tour of the Halls

The next day, after breakfast, the Elvenking made good on his promise to give Bilbo a personal tour of his halls. Thranduil was dressed much more casually than he had been at the feast. Shorter robes replaced the long, flowing ones from the evening before. Bilbo found these a hundred times more appealing (though the others had been quite flattering as well). Perhaps it was because they offered a better view of Thranduil's exquisite boots and leggings-clad thighs as he walked.

Deep into the caverns they went, skipping the cellars and the kitchens—for as the Elvenking remarked with a smirk, these were nothing Bilbo hadn't seen before. Instead Thranduil led him to the smithies, where weapons and armor were forged for his soldiers and guards, and to the treasure chamber, the contents of which he lamented were not nearly as vast as had been the riches of the kings of old. Still, he appeared to take great pride the treasure he did possess. Already elaborately displayed, Bilbo noticed, was the emerald Necklace of Girion—a gift the Elvenking had received from Bard. Now that he thought about it, he found it odd that Thranduil hadn't worn it instead of the silver and pearl necklace Bilbo had given him. It would have made for a much bolder statement.

Their last stop was the library. 

"Here you will find books on every topic imaginable," Thranduil said, as Bilbo took in the sight of shelves upon shelves leather-bound tomes, their spines shining in the torchlight. "Some are quite new; others are older than even my father. Those, of course, are the ones locked away behind glass," he added, nodding at one of the display cases, "though they are also preserved by magic."

"Amazing," Bilbo said, still gazing open-mouthed around the library. The collection was comparable to Lord Elrond's. 

"I have a good selection of books written in the Common Tongue—but you seem to have a talent for languages." Thranduil turned to him. "Would you be interested in studying elvish?" 

Bilbo felt himself blush. While it was true that he had picked up some Sindarin during his stay in Rivendell, he doubted his skills were anything beyond the ordinary. Nevertheless, the prospect of delving deeper into the study of elvish intrigued him. 

"Of course I would!"

When Thranduil smiled, Bilbo could swear he looked flattered. This surprised him.

"Then follow me," Thranduil said. "I have just the person to help you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me. This was supposed to be a holiday fic, updated daily in the style of various advent challenges, but that didn't happen. But I will do my best to update more frequently now, and there should be some fluff and sexy times leading up to Valentine's Day. 
> 
> I also have a [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/oohlagalion). You're welcome to follow me there. ♥


	9. Of Wisdom and Wine

Galion felt his mouth go dry as he entered the king's dining chamber. It was smaller than the great hall where everyone had feasted last night, meant for the royal family and perhaps the occasional honored guest. It was not often that the king summoned him for a private audience, and he feared he might have done something foolish again. 

"Has Legolas left his chambers at all today?" Thranduil asked.

Galion breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Evidently Thranduil only wanted an update on his son's well-being. "Not that I am aware of."

"Has he taken any meals?"

"I do not believe he has."

Hearing this, Thranduil frowned. "Tell him to join me in my study tonight. I wish to speak with him."

"Yes, hîr nín. I will go to him straight away," Galion said. "Is that all?"

Somberly Thranduil nodded. "Yes—but do try your best to convince him to come."

About a quarter of an hour later Galion knocked on the door to Legolas's room. 

"Leave me be," came the weary reply.

"Legolas, it's Galion," he said. "I hoped you might want to try some of this elderberry wine I made."

There was only silence on the other side of the door. Galion hoped Legolas remembered how much he'd enjoyed this very wine when he'd crafted his first batch, long ago. The prince wasn't nearly as fond of wine as his father was, but when he'd learned that Galion had made some from the berries that grew in the forest, his interest had been piqued. That was Legolas's nature; he appreciated things that were wild and free over those that were cultivated, tempered with and restrained by the hands of men.

As Galion ruminated with a fond smile, he suddenly heard a shuffling about, and seconds later the door was unlocked and pulled open.

The sight that greeted him was heart-wrenching. Legolas was looked miserable; his eyes were red, and his braided hair was an unkempt mess.

Now Galion was at a loss for what to do. Centuries ago he would have pulled Legolas into an embrace and held him, telling him funny stories about his father and grandfather until the prince was laughing and smiling again. But things had changed over the years. They'd grown apart. Legolas was not an elfling anymore, nor was he as open and carefree as he'd once been. Galion didn't want to overstep his bounds. 

"Shall I light a fire?" he asked, for it was dark and cold in the prince's chambers; the only light was that which flooded in through the open doorway from the torchlit corridor . 

Legolas nodded weakly. 

Galion set down the tray of wine and goblets on the low table, cut from a large tree stump, that stood in front of the fireplace, and then began to pile branches and small logs into the hearth. His heart clenched in his chest as we worked, for he had never seen Legolas in such a state of despair. And though he didn't know much of what had transpired between Legolas and Tauriel, or what the exact nature of their relationship had been, he had heard enough to conclude that it was a case of unrequited love. He understood Legolas's pain all too well. 

Once the flames were burning, he returned to the table, where Legolas had already poured them each a glass of the deep purple wine. They across from each other on low stools. 

"Thank you for coming," Legolas said after he took his first sip, and his lips curved into a melancholy, nostalgic smile. "I did not wish to see anyone today, but I have forgotten how much I once enjoyed this wine… and your company."

"It is my pleasure," Galion replied. "I have missed your company as well—though I would rather see you in higher spirits." He too took a sip of the wine. It quite different from the traditional wines made from grapes, but no less interesting with its unique play of flavors on the palate. "If you need someone to talk to—"

"I cannot bear to speak of my feelings," Legolas interrupted. "Not yet, at least."

Galion nodded in understanding, and they continued to drink in silence for a few minutes. Slowly Legolas appeared to grow more relaxed.

"Does it taste as good as you remember?" Galion asked. 

"Better."

"I agree. The harvest last year wasn't as abundant as it once was, but the quality of the berries was astounding, considering the circumstances." As more and more of the forest fell sick from the darkness, the fruits and shrubs that provided the elves with delicious nuts and berries were becoming scarce. Even those that continued to survive struggled to yield healthy crops. "But let us hope that things will begin to improve now."

"Father does not seem particularly optimistic."

 _"No, he does not,_ Galion said, "and I fear he may have legitimate reasons for concern. He is old and wise."

"And you are not?" 

Galion laughed. "Old—yes. But I'm not so sure about the 'wise' part."

"I always considered you wise," Legolas said. Then his lips curved into a hint of a smile. "Whether or not you heed that wisdom is another matter entirely."

Though it may not have been Legolas's intention, the words were like a punch in the gut. Galion had played a large part in how things had played out with Tauriel. If he had not convinced Elros to drink with him that fateful afternoon, the Dwarves might still be in their captivity, and the former captain still within the king's halls. 

"Speaking of wisdom," Galion said, remembering his initial purpose for visiting Legolas in his chambers. "I come bearing a message—and a bit of advice."

Legolas's eyes narrowed. "Adar sent you here, did he not?"

"Yes," Galion sighed. "He wishes to see you in his private study, and I suggest you join him. No good will come of avoiding your Adar, Legolas."

Legolas drained the remaining wine in his glass and poured himself some more. "I am not avoiding him specifically. I simply desired some time alone."

"That's understandable," Galion said. "But he worries for you, and I doubt he will keep you long."

Legolas heaved a sigh, then nodded. "All right. I will go to him—but only if you return tomorrow for another round."

Galion smiled. "That I shall."


	10. How do you fare?

Standing before the door to Thranduil's study, Legolas hoped he didn't look like the epitome of misery and self-pity. Galion had brushed and re-braided his hair before he'd left, and afterwards Legolas had finally changed into a clean tunic and leggings, for he hadn't bothered to remove his formal wear after returning from the feast the night before. 

His adar had keen eyes, however. When Legolas had been an elfing, Thranduil had always known when he'd been crying, even if it had been hours before. _That will not have changed,_ he thought. His expression, the heaviness of his steps—these were the things that would give him away. 

With a sigh, Legolas knocked lightly on the door. 

"Come in," came the response, and Legolas thought he heard a subtle note of surprise in it.

He pushed open the ornately carved door and entered, ever mindful of his posture and the way he carried himself.

Thranduil was seated at his desk, behind a stack of paperwork that had accumulated during his absence. He had a goblet of wine to keep him company, of course, as well as a small platter of pastries and cheeses.

"You wished to see me?" Legolas asked.

"Indeed, I did," Thranduil said as he signed the parchment in front of him. When he was done, he put his quill back in the inkwell and finally looked up. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he regarded Legolas for a moment. Then he rose from his chair, goblet in hand, and moved towards the seating area in front of the fireplace. 

Legolas took this as his queue to follow. 

They sat in opposite chairs angled towards the fire. Thranduil gestured at the carafe of wine and the empty goblet next to it on the low table between them. "Help yourself."

"I am not thirsty," Legolas said. He had already overindulged in the elderberry wine Galion had brought to his chambers. 

Thranduil gazed at him for a long while before asking, "How do you fare?" 

It was a question Legolas would rather not answer, but it was better than being quietly looked upon with sympathy or, worse yet, pity.

"I have seen better days."

Thranduil nodded thoughtfully. "I only wished to let you know that if you need someone to talk to—"

"I know," Legolas interrupted. "Galion has offered the same. However, I have no desire to speak of it." Thinking of the upcoming festivities and the work that still needed to be done to ensure that the forest was safe for its inhabitants, he added, "Do not worry—I will return to my duties tomorrow."

Thranduil's eyes widened, and he set down his goblet. "Tomorrow? Legolas, I would not see you wallow in darkness any longer than necessary, but you must give yourself some time to grieve. The captain will—"

Immediately rage fired through Legolas's veins at the mention of the new captain. "He will what?Drink merrily in the cellars while the forest is overrun by spiders?"

Thranduil sighed. "That was a grave error on Elros's part, you are right, but it was his only case of misconduct in centuries of excellent service. He is one of our best—and brightest—warriors."

"He's as dull as an orc blade," Legolas spat, crossing his arms over his chest. Maybe he was being a bit unfair, but the thought of dealing directly with the one responsible for the unfortunate turn of events with Tauriel made his stomach turn.

"Are you questioning my judgement?" Thranduil asked.

Legolas shook his head sulkily. His adar had always been better at seeing another's potential than he was—even when he wasn't biased. 

"Good." Thranduil picked up his goblet again and leaned back in his chair. Now his gaze was harder as he regarded Legolas. "I know you would rather not hear this, but the sooner you accept it, the sooner you can move on."

Legolas looked up at him, curious but dreading the words that would follow.

"Nothing would have turned out differently if the dwarves hadn't escaped, Legolas," Thranduil said. "Not for you. Not where Tauriel is concerned."

It was as if Thranduil had torn open the wound in his chest even wider than it had been before. Legolas looked away, blinking back the tears that were welling up in his eyes once more.

"You will find love again," Thranduil said gently, "if you can open your heart to it."

Legolas couldn't bear to hear any more. He felt like an elfling again, wanted to throw himself in his adar's arms and say that it was hopeless, that no one would ever want him—all the while hoping to have his fears put to rest by the one he loved and trusted the most. But he didn't. Instead he remained glued to his chair, biting back the words that the words that threatened come rushing out. 

When at last he was able to speak calmly again, Legolas decided to change the subject. "I am sorry I have not been a better host to our guest… Is Bilbo enjoying his stay so far?"

Thranduil appeared baffled by the question. "I certainly hope so," he said at last. "I gave him a tour of the halls this morning. He was particularly taken with the library—just as I expected."

A smile played on Thranduil's lips, and there was a faraway look in his eyes. It was an odd reaction, but Legolas couldn't find it in his heart to ponder the meaning behind it. 

"That is good to know." Legolas stood, for it seemed like a good moment to gently extract himself from his adar's company. "Shall I will leave you to your work?"

"Yes, you are free to go," Thranduil said, sinking lower in his chair as he stretched out his legs. "I am glad we had this talk."

"As am I," Legolas said, his brow furrowing at the sudden change in his adar's behavior. Some small part of him had found comfort in the conversation as well.


	11. Quite a Show

The ring was addictive. Corruptive. A bad influence, indeed.

Bilbo had no reason to be wearing it. He was a welcome guest in the Elvenking’s halls—there was no longer any reason to hide. And yet here he was in Thranduil’s study, doing his best not to make a sound lest he give himself away. His very breath could alert Thranduil to his presence if he wasn’t careful, for the elves had very keen senses. 

Bilbo wasn’t sure what had drawn him into this room, which Thranduil had shown him in passing earlier that day. He’d just finished enjoying a delicious, private supper in his guest chambers. He could have curled up in front of the fireplace with a steaming cup of tea and one of the books he’d taken from the library, but instead he’d gone roaming the halls like a thieving intrude. Eventually his curiosity had led him into the study only moments before Thranduil himself had arrived. 

The first few minutes had been the most difficult, as Bilbo had stealthily tried to assume a position he could maintain without movement for as long as it might be necessary, in a spot where Thranduil would be unlikely to approach. In the end, he’d decided to sit up against the wall to one side of the hearth. 

For maybe half an hour, Thranduil had worked at his desk, sipping wine and nibbling on cheese and pastries as he sorted through a stack of papers. Then the prince had come. 

The ensuing conversation between father and son should have been private, but of course Bilbo had heard every word of it. By the time it was over, his heart clenched with sympathy. He had noticed a great change in Legolas after the battle, a deep sorrow that marred his fair elven face and added heaviness to his previously graceful gait, but until now he hadn’t been certain of the cause of his unhappiness. 

_Oh, the pain of unrequited love,_ Bilbo thought as Legolas left the room. Thankfully he had never experienced it himself. He’d always preferred the company of books to that of other hobbits; his reclusive nature had spared him the experience of romantic love and the pain that so often came with it. He had never desired to share anything but perhaps a good laugh with another person. At least, until he’d met the Elvenking—but he knew nothing could ever come of that. 

Bilbo watched, entranced, as Thranduil stretched languidly. His arm dangled over the edge of his chair, the goblet in his hand seemingly forgotten as all traces of concern slowly melted from his features. Never before had Bilbo seen him so relaxed. 

But the scene continued to unfold.

Thranduil drew his lower lip in between his teeth. This was followed by a short pause, during which his brow furrowed slightly. It was only when his free hand began to wander that Bilbo noticed the impressive bulge in between his legs. 

Bilbo blinked in shock as Thranduil reached for the laces of his trousers, opening them with a few deft tugs. 

A sigh left Thranduil’s lips as his cock sprang free. Bilbo gulped at the sight of it—no thicker a dwarf’s dick (he’d had the misfortune of seeing a few on his adventure), but long and beautifully arched. Pale, slender fingers wrapped themselves around the shaft, and Thranduil let his head fall back. 

The empty goblet clattered to the floor. 

Bilbo tried to look away from the scene, but he could not succeed for more than a few seconds at a time. This was turning into a nightmare—the most pleasant nightmare he’d ever had, but a nightmare nonetheless. He was aroused, his legs were starting to cramp from sitting in the same position for far too long, and he had no hope of taking care of either problem anytime soon. 

Thranduil was taking his time. He pumped his fist slowly up and down the length of his cock, stopping every now and then to smear pre-come over the tip with the pad of his thumb. Occasionally his eyes fluttered closed for brief moments, an action that was often accompanied by soft sigh. 

Bilbo’s trousers had become uncomfortable tight, and by the time Thranduil’s breathing grew heavier he was aching with need. But he didn’t dare move. 

The first moan that escaped Thranduil’s lips held a tone almost of surprise—as if he’d forgotten what pleasure could be found in such an act. And he wasn’t the only one. Bilbo couldn’t remember the last time he had jerked off. Unfortunately, there was no immediate way to remedy the issue, so he made a mental note to take care of it later. For now, there was nothing left to do but sit and enjoy the show.


	12. The Sun Still Rises

The night dragged on and on. Legolas dreaded the morning, yet it couldn’t come soon enough. He needed to prove to himself that he could deal with a new captain—even if it was Elros—and not think of Tauriel every time they spoke. If he couldn’t do that much, he wouldn’t able to remain in Eryn Lasgalen.

Unable to find rest, he left the halls before dawn to seek solace in the branches of his favorite beech. But the old familiar tree had no comfort to offer—only memories he would rather forget. _What a fool I have been!_ he thought. There was not a single part of his life that he hadn’t shared with Tauriel in hopes that it would bring them closer, and now he had to pay the price. He had nowhere to escape. 

When at last the darkness began to break, Legolas returned to the halls once more to find Elros. If he could keep himself from strangling him, maybe they could share some breakfast and walk to the training grounds together. He sensed that Elros didn’t like him very much, either; he was always so tense and reserved around him. It would be better for the guard and, ultimately, the realm if they learned to tolerate one another better. 

The captain’s quarters were located just above the dungeons. Legolas stopped in front of the door and raised his hand to knock, but stopped when he heard voices. Most of the private chambers in the halls had thinner doors than his father’s and his own, so it was easy to hear what was being said.

“So good…love that mouth of yours.” 

The voice sounded familiar; it took Legolas all of two seconds to identify it. When he did, his jaw dropped. 

“It’s been far too long since I’ve fucked you,” Galion continued a moment later, and received a hum of agreement in response, barely audible from the other side of the door. “Shall we fix that?” 

Unwilling to hear any more, Legolas turned to leave.

 _Elros and Galion,_ he thought bitterly as he made his way to the training grounds. He’d known they were friends, but it had never crossed his mind that they might be lovers as well. Though it wasn’t any of his business, for some reason it hurt to have discovered this aspect of their relationship. What did Elros have that he lacked? Surely there was something. Galion had spent almost an hour in Legolas’s chambers the previous night, had drunk with him and braided his hair, and yet he hadn’t expressed a hint of interest. He’d shown plenty of affection and concern—but nothing more. Was he so in love with Elros that none other could tempt him? Legolas doubted it. 

 

Unsurprisingly, Elros was the last to arrive to archery practice—but much to Legolas’s chagrin he wasn’t late. And though his gait was a bit awkward upon arrival, he walked confidently amongst the archers and gave helpful advice to those who needed improvement. In short, there was nothing lacking in how he carried out his duties—despite his early morning activities with Galion. Still, the very sight of him grated on Legolas’s nerves. 

Elros waited until the last of the guards had left, then turned to Legolas. “Hîr nín, I did not expect you to come to practice so soon after your return,” he said with a hint of a smile. “How did you find it? If there’s anything I can improve—”

Legolas didn’t know what had possessed him, but the words left his mouth before he could think better of it. “Perhaps you can start by not spreading your legs for any servant who desires it.”

Elros’s mouth fell open, reflecting Legolas’s own shock, but he quickly regained his composure. His eyes flashed with anger as he said, “Galion is not ‘any servant.’ He is my dearest friend. And what I do in the privacy of my chambers is my own business.”

Legolas was too ashamed by his behavior to take offence. Indeed he would have liked to apologize, but the words didn’t come. He looked down at his feet. 

“If that is all, my lord?” Elros asked, more quietly now. 

Legolas nodded weakly. This meeting had not gone at all as planned. “Yes, that is all.”


End file.
